Right Here ll MakoHaru
by animestatic
Summary: Thanks to his nightmares, Haru is constantly being reminded of how close he came to losing Makoto and is in desperate need of refuge. Will he confide in Makoto? Or, will he resort to much more drastic measures? Inspired by the song(s): Right Here by Ashes Remain and Lullaby by Nickelback. DISCLAIMER: NOT MY COVER ART! TW: SELF HARM


**_Hey guys, I'm back with yet another Free! fanfic! Pretty fast work am I right? Well, in all honesty none of this would of been possible had I not had the help of my co-author/editor Shelby (aka tumblr user yin-sanpaku). 3 She's helped me so much more than words can express - especially when it came to writing MakoHaru sexy-time. xD She's a genius when it comes to writing yaoi -unlike me- so she had a major roll in this feelsy little fanfic. :3 That having been said, I really hope you guys enjoy reading it!_**

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The ocean had never looked more beautiful than it did on this day, so tranquil and calm. Haruka took comfort in the serenity of the moment as he stood in the safe harbor of Makoto's casual yet welcoming embrace; he suddenly pressed his lips against the back of Haru's slender nape, causing Haruka to moan.

As he was drawn in closer to Makoto's chest, Haru couldn't help but allow himself to sigh contentedly. This was home to him. This was the one place where he was able to truly be himself, not the distant, apathetic guy that everyone else thought him to be. Here, in the safety of Makoto's arms, Haru was truly…free.

Abruptly, there was a flash of blinding light - and Haru suddenly found himself in what he would describe as the very definition of hell. The sea, which had once been the depiction of absolute tranquility, was now churning as the waves rose and fell, violently hitting the shoreline. The sky, which had once been a representation of unadulterated beauty, was now veneered in a miasma of dark, foreboding clouds.

And Makoto, who had been pressed against Haru's slender build less then a second ago, had vanished all but entirely from the beach's sandy plain - leaving Haru to wonder what he had done to deserve such a nightmare..

Far off in the distance, a wave that was taller than anything Haru could've ever imagined began to form in the heart of the storm, threatening to clash savagely with the shore as it closed in on the space that was settled between them. That's when it occurred to him in a flash of epiphany, the wind whipping across Haruka's face as he spotted an ostensibly panicked silhouette making its way hastily to the coast: Makoto was still lost in the ocean, never having made it back to shore.

When he saw that the figure struggling to make its way away from the colossal wave was Makoto, Haru was consumed with a fear that could not be put into words. In a desperate attempt to rescue his lover, Haru quickly leaped forward, only to find that when he tried to move, his feet were embedded thoroughly in the sand, trapping him there. The ocean floor's grip on his ankles made Haruka unable to do anything but watch as Makoto was sucked into the void.

Haru screamed in terror as the merciless tide suddenly drew Makoto under, from which he never resurfaced.

"Makoto!" Haruka shrieked in total anguish as his knees buckled helplessly beneath him, the sound of the ocean waves still pounding through his head. Makoto was gone….

Haruka shot up violently from his bed. His nightmare was fresh in his mind as he clutched at his heart; his chest was heaving arduously as he struggled to catch his breath. He clutched at his bedspread as he tried to stop shaking.

It had been less than three months since the accident, yet Haru couldn't bring himself to forget the pain that he was forced to endure after having witnessed Makoto in such a horrific state — ashen, cold and lifeless…the memory of that night on the island often lingered in his dreams.

Though, 'nightmares' was probably a more appropriate definition. They served as a constant, painful reminder of what could've been, had Haru not gotten to Makoto in time. A reminder which Haru wished he could forget.

Suddenly, a voice broke passed the obscurity of sullen thoughts in his head, rendering him into a state of complete solace. "Haru," the sleep-ridden voice chided softly in his ear. "What's the matter?" The concern that laced the other man's tone was evident now as he moved to sit up, his eyes fixed on Haruka as he still struggled to breathe evenly.

"Nothing." Haru responded bluntly, before moving to lightly press a hand down on Makoto's chest, forcing him to lay back down against the mattress. "I'm fine… Go back to sleep." Haruka lifted himself off of the bed, eyes jaded and distant as he glanced toward the bathroom then back towards Makoto, making sure he was fine before heading into the hallway.

As soon as he shut the door, Haru turned on the light and began to root through the cabinet beneath the sink as quietly as possible. He breathed out a sigh in relief when he found a razor blade tucked under his pile of random bathroom supplies - it was Makoto's attempt at trying to hide it from him, no doubt. But how could Haru blame him for it? After all, Haruka's wrists were already scarred enough to the point of such severity that Makoto had resorted to signing him up for weekly therapy sessions just to insure that he wasn't suicidal.

In all honesty, it wasn't like Haruka wanted to end his life; that simply wasn't the case. Cutting was just a release from the pain that he was unable to escape, from life but even more so, the nightmares that frequently kept sleep at bay. It was as simple as that….

Haru made his way over to the shower, sitting down on the ledge of the tub. He placed the tiny blade down onto the caddy in the shower corner. Haru lifted his shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it onto the floor before he rid himself of his underwear. As he pulled off his socks, eyes glazed over a little, he tried to breathe evenly and focus on anything else but what he was about to do. Haru's eyes scanned the wall, taking in the seashell designs patterned across the tiles.

In most cases, he liked the oceanic designs that fanned along the expanse of the bathroom walls, somehow managing to always find comfort in their elaborate patterns. But ever since the accident, they had only managed to serve as a constant of reminder of that day. The day that Haru had nearly lost his best friend out of his own stupidity and carelessness.

Desperately seeking refuge from the painful thoughts that shrouded his mind, Haru got into the tub and turned on the water to a low spray. It was hot, almost too hot, but he felt his body relax as the water soothed him and calmed him. The heat began to turn his pale skin a light pink, but he didn't mind it. Haru leaned his head against the shower tiles, idly gazing at the scars already lining his wrist, feeling numb as he traced them with his fingers.

As his fingers traced leisurely along the creased, raised skin of his arm, a sullen, tiny smile found its way onto Haruka's mouth as he reached for the blade.

Haru felt his heart beat faster as he neared the blade to his wrist. It never got any easier, no matter what anyone would've thought. Haru let out a muted groan, a masochistic mix of pain and pleasure as he drew the blade against his wrist, creating two cuts, about three inches long. He could only marvel at the way the abrasion quickly pooled with blood; how it began turning the water at his feet a light pink.

As he was looking down at his feet, Haru's grip on the thin plate of metal loosened, causing him to accidentally drop it.

"…Shit," Haru muttered as he went to grab the razor. His head felt foggy and his arms and legs were shaking. His vision disoriented for a moment, a combination of the cut and the heat getting to him. He felt annoyance creep up on him as he fumbled to grab the blade.

"Stupid fucking razor, could you just—?" Before he could speak any further, two strong arms were drawing him up, back from the razor. Haruka suddenly found himself pressed taut against the shower wall behind him, the impact of the cooler tiles against the warmth of his body a welcomed relief. Makoto reached down and turned the water onto a cooler temperature, before stripping himself of the rest of his clothing. Haruka watched as Makoto took off his shorts quickly, face entirely unreadable before leaning in with a hurt look to his gaze.

"Wait—" But then, Haruka's mouth was suddenly occupied as Makoto stepped into the shower and took him into a surprisingly gentle kiss.

"Makoto…" Haru tried to say his boyfriend's name as Makoto kissed him, suddenly with more fervor, as if having a change of heart. But Makoto didn't want to hear any hollow explanations right now. He only wanted to hold Haruka close to him, show him how much he cared….

At least a few times per week - every other night, at worst - Haruka would get out of bed and, instead of going into the living room and watching a documentary or reading a book to ward off his insomnia, he would go into the bathroom and cut himself with anything he could get his hands on. A razor blade, haircutting scissors, shaving tools. It had gotten to the point where Haruka had been hospitalized once for accidentally cutting too deep, almost two months ago. Ever since then, he'd seemed to be getting better, but the occasional visits to the bathroom during the night were becoming more frequent, and Makoto was worried. Words couldn't describe how Makoto felt about it - the devastation and anger making his heart heavy. Haru was better than this - why couldn't he just see it?

"Haru," Makoto breathed as they parted. He cupped the side of Haruka's face. Haru could see how Makoto's eyes were filled with anguish, and it nagged at his heart, guilt pooling in his chest. "Are you all right?" Makoto murmured. There was a painfully forced, half-hearted smile gracing his features as he allowed his hold to loosen just slightly on Haruka's face. He suddenly dropped the act, swallowing heavily before sighing, then turning off the shower.

Makoto looked back up at him. Haruka didn't know what to say.

"How long…how long can you keep doing this?" His voice was on the verge of breaking.

Haru was taken aback by the question, clearly having been caught off guard as Makoto suddenly reached out and tenderly held his right forearm, raising it so he could observe it himself. "I…" Haru began weakly, not sure of where he could go with this to avoid another trip to the emergency room.

Without even realizing it, maybe from the heat of the shower or how tired he was, he'd cut himself very deeply — almost as badly as that night two months prior, when the cuts had led Haruka to be taken into the psych ward for 72 hours on a suicide watch. Haruka could tell by the look on Makoto's face as he saw the cuts, a mix of disgust and astonishment.

No matter how much he'd said anything at the time, nobody had listened. Nobody believed those cuts — along with the scars on his wrist — meant anything but suicide. Since then, Haruka thought he'd gotten better. Gotten better at controlling himself, how deep the blade went, even in the intensity of the moment. He'd even stopped cutting as much as he usually did, for the past week or two. But now….

What could he have said in this moment to make him understand? Makoto couldn't possibly understand how he felt about having to relive that night again and again. And Haruka didn't want him to, either.

"Y-You don't understand, Makoto," Haruka began, trying to remain as calm as possible, feeling his heart race again when he saw the uneasy expression on Makoto's face. Haruka just knew that he was thinking about calling the hospital again, and it made him incredibly angry for some reason, even though Makoto had every right to. Makoto suddenly reached back, grabbing a hand towel off the towel bar next to the shower and covering it over Haruka's wrist.

"I'm sorry," Makoto said tersely, laughing humorously, the pain in his voice evident. "Did you just say that I don't understand?" He looked at Haruka again. "Just what the hell is it that you think I'm trying to do here, Haru? I'm trying as hard as I possibly can to understand your reasons for doing…doing this," Makoto said shakily as he glanced down at the forearm he was holding, wrapped in the towel, "but — you're not making it easy for me. Do you have even the slightest idea of what it does to me when I'm forced to see you like this?! To be constantly reminded of the pain you're in because of those scars?"

Makoto paused, gaze boring fiercely into Haruka's. "It's…it's killing me, Haru.. Because I'm forced to just stand by and watch as you destroy yourself! I can't do anything for the person I care about…and that hurts more than anything." Haurka felt his stomach turn at his words. He looked at the floor, desperate not to react.

"Look at me, Haru!" Makoto's voice shook as he spoke, his free hand immediately taking hold of Haruka's chin, tilting his face toward his. "I know about the nightmares. You don't talk about them a lot, but I understand. I know how badly that day hurt you. But I'm living, I'm breathing — I'm alive. I didn't die that day." Haruka swallowed heavily meeting Makoto's eyes before casting his gaze away once more. Makoto only continued, no longer deterred.

"So…if you love me, or have any consideration for my feelings at all, please stop this. Please try to get some sort of help, beyond what you're doing now. I know it's selfish of me to request something like this, but…it's the only resolve I have left."

Haruka was literally shaking from Makoto's words, something he hadn't expected. His skin felt prickly and warm, like he'd been sunburned, and his head was heavy. His wrist throbbed underneath the towel. In the dampness of the shower, his body still sickeningly hot despite the coolness of the air, it suddenly occurred to Haruka just how fucked up he was — how all of this was. He couldn't help but feel like shit for causing Makoto so much pain, but — how was he supposed to know that it affected him so deeply?

For whatever reason, Makoto's overly concerned, paternal attitude was rubbing Haruka the wrong way. (Or maybe he just don't want to admit that Makoto was right.) "Is that all?" Haruka said flatly, trying to regain some control over his body as his eyes met Makoto's again in a steely gaze. Makoto began to open his mouth to speak, but something flared in Haruka's gut and he just couldn't think logically anymore.

"You know how difficult it is for me to discuss my feelings with you, let alone at all!" Haruka said, fist clenched as he felt his voice starting to rise against his efforts to keep his emotions in check. "So — so why the hell do you keep asking me about it? I don't want to tell you—"

Before he knew what was happening, Makoto had dropped the towel onto the shower floor and was kissing him, his lips firm and persistent and utterly overwhelming, before Haruka could only open his mouth and allow Makoto to reach him deeply. He held back a moan with all of his will as Makoto gripped the sides of his face, his tongue sweeping against Haruka's with a surprisingly gentle intention. Haruka half-opened his eyes and saw how Makoto's expression was desperate, anxious, terrified, even. Utterly hurt. It suddenly quelled his anger and that same, familiar numbness came over his chest. Haruka was thankful for it this time.

Haruka took a deep, uneven breath as Makoto finally pulled away. Makoto swept his thumb over Haru's cheek as they looked at one another in silence, with only the sound of dripping water in the background.

"I…" Haruka finally found his voice. It cracked a little, and he cleared his throat, feeling unusually transparent. The way Makoto was looking at him was unnerving - like he was analyzing everything going through his mind. Haruka didn't know what else to say but the truth.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I messed up," Haruka said quietly, feeling the sullen sensation in his chest alleviate just slightly. Because he honestly was sorry. Even though he still felt numb, the remorse he had for causing Makoto all of this grief was more intense than it normally was. It almost made Haruka a little nauseous to realize he hadn't even felt this bad when he'd been hospitalized by accident…

No. It wasn't a mistake, was it? Haruka thought. It suddenly hit him, just live the waves of his nightmares. But instead of causing him more pain, ironically enough, this was freeing. It was freeing to admit his own insanity. It was easy to, for once, feel a lack of responsibility for his own actions. Instead of arguing with Makoto here, in a way, it seemed much more simple to give into what others thought of him, of what the doctors at the hospital thought, of what his therapist thought, too. This was insanity in its rawest form, wasn't it? It was funny that it had only taken one night, one incident like this for Haruka to finally stop dodging it. He was standing side-by-side with it now, getting used to it, for the first time since the incident three months ago. And strangely enough, Haruka didn't feel a sense of shame or angst about it.

"Do you think I'm crazy, Makoto?" Haruka suddenly said, like the realization gave him enough confidence to ask. He honestly had no idea why he would even ask something like that to someone as loving as Makoto, but he did anyway, probably just to be a prick. Even if it was true, Makoto would never admit it. Haruka swallowed heavily, not even knowing where that had come from. He nearly wished he could take it back - it was utterly selfish. He already knew the answer himself, anyway.

What Makoto did next surprised him. He didn't say anything, not at first. Instead, Makoto stepped back from Haruka, checked the wound on his wrist. It was still oozing blood, just barely; the pressure from the compress had helped considerably. The razor blade was still forgotten, lying on the shower floor. Haruka hadn't considered it, but when Makoto looked at his arm, he suddenly became very aware that it was still there, less than half of a foot from him. Yet he wanted to kick it away, not pick it up.

"It looks like you're going to be all right," Makoto murmured, almost to himself. He looked up at Haruka again, his eyes a wavering mix between relief and uncertainty.

Haruka felt a strange sense of something like peace come over him as Makoto watched him, pressing the towel gently over his wrist again. His arm was aching, but not as intensely as it had been when the towel was taken away. Honestly, with Makoto looking at him like that, the idea of the hospital wasn't as horrible as it had been earlier; that was probably a mix of guilt and his own insanity eating away at his usual resolve. Or, maybe he was just tired. Haruka didn't know. He felt in a sense that it was probably good in the long run to renounce himself to whatever would come his way. In the end, it was pointless trying to fight Makoto calling or being locked up again.

No. Not locked up - given some kind of 'treatment' like last time. The word usually made him feel a degree of annoyance but now, repeating it in his mind, Haruka felt nothing, which was probably a good sign. Maybe, it occurred to him, his fucked up brain really could use the help, for once, if they just gave him a bunch of drugs and dissected his head or something. Maybe this was something like surrendering to fate.

It probably wouldn't be so bad. But they wouldn't be able to see each other as much as they usually did, and they wouldn't have the chance to…

Haruka felt a weird kind of smile pull at the corners of his mouth, one that was wan and bittersweet as he mused over something. It was subtle but, as Makoto studied his face, trying to gauge where Haru was emotionally, he definitely noticed it.

"Haruka…" Makoto began, voice calm yet cautious. His heart sank when he caught sight of the expression on Haruka's face. Makoto only hoped that he wasn't headed for a full break again. It made his stomach twist into knots.

Makoto understood, though, that a kiss - no matter how passionate and loving it was - couldn't be a cure for someone's sickness. Makoto knew there was only so much that he himself could do for Haruka, but he thought that love and caring had to go a long way for someone…some like this. Going through all of this, especially when he was probably to blame._ 'Maybe I just haven't been expressive enough?'_ Makoto thought, wracking his brain for answers.

But maybe there weren't any. Haruka likely didn't know himself. It was tempting to say _'I wish we had never gone to that stupid island'_, and so many other regrets fueled by emotional pain. All the same, Makoto knew that wouldn't change the past.

"I think I want to fuck before I get committed again." Haruka's own voice was strangely foreign to him and his words were slow, bizarrely casual. Without even realizing he was doing it at first, he bent down to turn the shower onto a light spray again on a whim. Maybe to calm himself, since his nerves were still strangely rattled. Alternating between anxiety and a subtle kind of depersonalization was an odd feeling. He felt like he was moving through molasses, but his hands were unsteady.

"Haruka—!" Makoto gasped shortly, thinking he was reaching for the razor blade. Haruka didn't meet his eyes as he turned on the shower. A lukewarm spray hit the sides of their bodies as they stood together. Makoto immediately shut his mouth, feeling heat come to his cheeks and guilt tug at his heart. But in this situation, was he really so wrong for worrying…?

And what was Haruka talking about, exactly? As traces of fear dissipated from Makoto's head and he began to think clearly, he looked at Haru with a muted expression of shock. Makoto really didn't like hearing him talk that way — so bluntly and casually like their relationship meant far less than it did. It just sounded wrong to him, like Haruka thought he was a stranger. Despite the callousness of his words, there wasn't any passion or desire in Haruka voice. It disturbed him.

"Haruka…I'm not taking you anywhere," Makoto said, feeling his throat get a little tight. Haruka looked at him in disbelief, almost in disappointment. It made Makoto wonder, since it was almost like Haruka had wanted to hear him say those words.

"I…I just want you to be all right. I'm being selfish again, but I want to hold you now. I don't really want to…fuck," Makoto managed, the word heavy on his tongue. He took a step closer to Haruka, making the water a little warmer before putting a hand on his hip and pressing his lips against the shell of Haruka's ear. "I just wanna hold you. OK?" Makoto's voice was uneven.

There was too much unsaid between them. The towel had fallen onto the shower floor, stained a light pink from his wound. Haru felt his wrist begin giving off that dull ache again, but most of the bleeding had stopped; it wasn't anything serious to call the hospital after all, and he was vaguely relieved, yet mostly felt nothing about it.

What Haru really thought about was how Makoto still cared about him, even after all of this. Why he didn't care more about if Makoto was going to be all right by tomorrow instead of himself.

It was almost tempting to scorn Makoto for being so soft. Haruka felt his eyes glaze over. He wasn't sure if he could feel anything at all, even if Makoto fucked him hard, ruthlessly, taking no care to prep him. That kind of thing was probably all that could reach him right now, but Makoto was being sappy, sentimental — he'd go about touching Haruka like something fragile. It made Haruka feel put off.

"Don't…hold me," Haruka said, his voice quiet and bitter. "I'm not breakable. If you want that, go get a girl." Makoto said nothing.

"Besides. What's the point of wasting something like that on somebody like me? Just hurt me." He'd said a lot, but for some reason Haruka couldn't finish the entirety of his thoughts. It all weighed heavily in his mind, making him want to disappear. (What was holding him seriously going to accomplish? Getting off wasn't going to help either of them. They were fucked up. No — Haruka was. And Makoto didn't deserve to waste any kind of love on a person like Haruka anymore.)

Makoto suddenly gripped Haru's body more than a little tightly, and it caught Haru off guard. In a way, he knew he'd been trying to piss Makoto off - not really hurt him, but rub him the wrong way. But that wasn't happening. Makoto wouldn't let go.

"Fine. Fine," Makoto repeated, his voice unsure and a little pained. His breathing had quickened, but not out of arousal. Without a second thought, Makoto pushed Haruka against the shower a little too roughly, not meeting Haruka's eyes. Haruka knew that this wasn't Makoto, that this wasn't what he wanted — yet he was actually doing what Haruka had said. Trying to hurt him, but just a little. The dull, achy sensation in his shoulder blades wasn't entirely unwelcomed, and he almost wanted to thank Makoto for it. _'I don't care. I'll take any kind of pain…especially if it's from you. You deserve to do it,'_ Haruka thought, staring at the ceiling as Makoto kissed at his chest, biting at his nipples a little too roughly and making him wince. He didn't feel a sense of sadness around it, or happiness, or whatever. He guessed this was a weird way of showing his repentance.

It was odd that they were actually lovers, wasn't it? They didn't seem like it anymore — not here, not with Makoto roughly pulling at his cock, not looking at him like he usually did when they slept together, just blindly trying to arouse him. But maybe Makoto would feel better after all of this.

Haruka closed his eyes as Makoto bit down on his neck, fumbling a little as he gripped at his cock, trying to get him hard. His shoulder muscles, Haruka noticed as he opened his eyes, were straining with effort, probably out of the stress to control and steady himself. This was difficult for him, clearly. Haru almost considered calling all of it off and stepping out of the shower before it could get any worse for him.

He also felt like saying that getting him hard was going to be a difficult task — Haruka was so distant from himself, he may as well have been out of his own body. But the sensation of Makoto roughly sucking at his neck and pulling at his nipples was enough to get Haruka half-hard, faster than he expected, and back down to earth. His arousal crept up on him unexpectedly, especially when Makoto alternately bit and sucked at his neck and laid gentle kisses there, surprising him.

Makoto stepped on the towel before kicking it to the side, grinding his hips against Haruka's as he felt himself grow harder with each passing moment. Even though his chest was heavy, as if weighted down, he was still becoming impossibly aroused. This wasn't what Makoto wanted - no, it wasn't what Haru needed - yet he was trying to do something, anything to get them closer. To make Haruka happy.

Haru hadn't been entirely unresponsive, but less responsive than Makoto wanted. Makoto was being rough with Haru, just like he seemed to want it, yet he was still too far away.

Makoto pulled back from Haru's neck, trying not to show how hurt he felt. Haru stared at him, eyes calm, though not with peace. He was aloof, even though Makoto's cock was still pressed against his own and they were both half-hard.

"Turn around," Makoto said flatly, trying to seem commanding — trying to give Haruka what would make him feel protected, safe. If this kind of thing could really make anyone happy at all. Even though it was so contradictory, that it didn't make any sense… Makoto would try. He would try to touch Haruka in a way that made him feel grounded, maybe even loved, if he could. If he could make Haruka feel better by hurting him — even though the very idea of that was so painful to Makoto that it was like a knife in the gut — without Haruka having to take a blade to his wrist again, he would do it as many times as Haru ever wanted him to.

* * *

When Makoto ordered him to face the other way, Haruka didn't say anything, merely doing as Makoto asked. He rather liked not feeling in control of himself.

Unable to help himself as he pumped his own cock, Makoto pressed a few more tender kisses along the back of Haruka's neck, his teeth lightly nipping at Haruka's skin. It was tempting to try to check Haruka's pulse, to see if he was really reacting to any of it.

"Haruka…" Makoto breathed shakily in anticipation, bending his body just slightly to make up for their difference in height as he kissed at Haruka's neck, glad Haru wasn't rejecting his touch. The kissing was almost for himself than anyone else, and it pained Makoto to realize it.

It went without saying that Haruka didn't want to really be prepped. He slipped a finger inside of him, then two shortly after, giving Haruka no warning.

It was somewhat satisfying hearing Haruka suck in a small breath in surprise. Makoto continued working him just a little, unable to completely fuck Haruka dry. He just couldn't resort to doing that — it was where he drew the line.

But Haruka said nothing about it. The warmth of the shower grounded him as Makoto began pushing inside, faster than he normally did. Tremors of pain shot through him, and Haruka clenched his teeth, wincing as he tried to remember to breathe. He was still aware of the shooting pains in his wrist, the sense that he was still bleeding just slightly, and the doubled sensations of pain made him feel nauseated. It was foreign not using any kind of lubricant, yet he forced himself to welcome the heightened sensation of discomfort, pressing his palms flat against the tile and swallowing his anguish.

It smelled like shampoo and it was getting too hot, steamy with fog from the water's temperature. Haruka almost choked when he felt Makoto begin thrusting with more force and speed than he'd expected. Even though his thrusts weren't extremely intense, it was still extremely uncomfortable — which was ideal, in a sense. Despite the calm of the atmosphere, the blade and towel both forgotten, a mounting discomfort radiated through Haruka's lower back and ass. The feel of Makoto fully thrusting from base to tip was initially excruciating, since they hadn't had sex in over a week.

_'It's fine,'_ Haruka thought to himself as he bit his lower lip, screwing his eyes shut._ 'I deserve it. It's fine…'_

He didn't work his own cock. He let Makoto fuck him, his thrusts growing a little harder, more erratic before he settled into a more predictable rhythm.

"Makoto," Haru breathed out quietly, unable to help himself as Makoto brushed against his prostate. His arms were shaking, a combination of the mix of pleasure-pain and pushing his arms so tautly against the wall. Haruka wouldn't let himself take comfort in grabbing onto anything, nor biting into his palm. His lip felt bloodied and sore. Makoto said nothing, making the small keening murmurs and whines that usually came with sex, shaken as he slowed his thrusts momentarily. Then, he leaned forward again, thrusting harder as he felt Haruka push his hips back impatiently, bending so his forehead almost rested against Haruka's shoulder.

Haruka felt his cock begin to twitch, desperate for friction. The force of Makoto thrusting against his prostate and the slight smell of his own blood created a nauseating yet erotic effect, making him feel sick, twisted. He didn't want to get off, only wanted to feel Makoto hurt him a little more. Maybe a little too much to bear.

Makoto realized Haruka's cock had been neglected up until this point; it'd been difficult to think until now, with his own buried deeply in Haruka's ass, with his body so tight and warm. Unsteadily, Makoto reached down to pull at Haruka's cock, wanting him to get off before he did.

Haruka made a noise in the back of his throat, a mix of arousal and something else less positive. He obviously didn't want Makoto to touch him, and before he could feel any kind of rejection, Makoto swallowed his feelings and tried to reassure him. He knew what Haruka was trying to do — how he was trying to pay Makoto back for all the pain he'd caused him. That had quickly grown obvious to him, and Makoto hated himself for playing along with it.

He didn't want Haruka to think this really was necessary at all. It was getting more and more impossible to play this game. Makoto felt himself slipping back into his usual role, the way he normally was when they had sex. He wasn't sure how Haruka was going to take it, but Makoto absolutely refused to stop touching him.

"It's alright," Makoto managed, breathing raggedly as the fingers in his free hand weaved through Haruka's hair, pulling his head back in a satisfyingly tight grip. He knew Haruka would probably appreciated it. He made a tiny noise in approval, a stifled moan in the back of his throat as he shut his eyes and absolutely felt his resolve fall to the feeling of Makoto reaching down to jerk him off. He wasn't going to do it himself, clearly; and he didn't want Makoto to. And yet, Haruka couldn't reject Makoto's touch this far in, the feeling of the occasional brush against his prostate combined with the warmth of the shower on his cock entirely too much. It was just too pleasurable, and for a moment he entirely forgot about what the purpose of this all was.

"Makoto— N-Nngh!" Haruka grunted as leaned his forehead against the shower wall, one hand impulsively moving to cover his mouth at last as he struggled to suppress a moan, failing all but entirely in doing so as Makoto angled his hips just so and managed to hit his prostate with every other thrust. "A-ahhh…I..…Mak—" Haruka lost his voice as he began to come, feeling orgasm rush over him in intense waves. He felt pleasure flood his brain and his body. A euphoric numbness overcame his legs, back arching as Makoto helped him ride it out. It was something he didn't deserve.

Makoto, unfailingly, had still been working his cock, all while managing to lean down and press a kiss against his shoulder blade. As Haruka finished, Makoto's hand dropped away. His thrusts were becoming erratic again, and Haruka, as he came down from orgasm, knew Makoto probably wouldn't last.

"I…Haru…" Makoto groaned quietly over the sound of the shower as he pulled out of Haruka and came across his lower back. Makoto shook, tilting his head back momentarily before watching himself finish against Haru's back, cock twitching as his come fell onto Haruka's body, washing away almost immediately by the shower spray on his body. It was almost disappointing.

_'Haru, I love you. I hope you know that,'_ Makoto thought as he took a few deep breaths through his nose, trying to reorient himself. As he grew soft again, he managed to come back to his senses, the high of his orgasm fading from his head.

"We need to bandage your cut," Makoto said. He wasn't used to talking this bluntly to Haruka. Before, he never would have said something that direct to him, without some degree of affection in his voice. But maybe this would help. Maybe Haruka needed less sensitivity.

Haruka said nothing in reply. He stood straighter, but his knees were weak and his arms were shaky. Makoto felt his heart get the best of him as he helped Haruka stand up, placing a hand on his arm and his waist, not wanting him to fall.

"I…I can stand on my own." Makoto swallowed heavily as Haruka brushed some hair out of his eyes, his cheeks flushed. His face had more vitality and warmth than he'd seen in weeks. Haru reached to turn off the shower before momentarily stilling. He turned back to Makoto, looking at him for the first time. He hadn't moved to take Makoto's hand off his arm, but at least he was no longer touching his hip. It was almost, ironically enough, too intimate after what they'd just done. He didn't need that.

"I need some time alone. Not much more time." Haruka found himself closing his eyes as the shower spray hit against his head, water dribbling over his lips, cheeks and eyelids. He sighed, open mouthed as he only glanced at Makoto.

Makoto's eyes were heavy, sullen. Haruka felt a familiar sense of remorse in his chest, but he didn't have the energy to say anything else. Makoto began to step out of the shower.

"Get the blade."

Makoto looked up, not sure if he'd heard Haruka correctly. With care, Haruka was shampooing his hair, holding a wash cloth over his wounded wrist. He smelled like sea salt and Paul Mitchell and Makoto hoped he wouldn't do something stupid like start crying.

"Sure," Makoto managed past the lump in his throat. He reached into the shower and picked the razor blade, a little dulled but fully cleaned from the shower spray. "I'll take the towel, too. We can probably bleach it." Haruka merely continued to shampoo his hair, eyes closed as he reveled in the warmth of the water. Maybe it was too difficult for him to watch it being taken away from him.

The towel was soggy and heavy in his hands. Makoto knew he was just going to throw it away. Or maybe he wouldn't. It was probably salvageable. And maybe it could become clean again — a reminder that things once tarnished could look new again. Makoto closed the curtain, not minding the mix of blood and water on his hands, feeling like he could finally breathe despite the steam pervading the room.

Makoto stood at the sink, washing out the towel with a bar of soap, not wanting to leave Haruka alone; the sound of the water was a constant between them, just as it had always been and always would be; for better or for worse.


End file.
